Friday, June 23, 2006

Four somewhat spiffular days spent in the land of Scots, where the term midsummer's day is simply Name #34 for rain.

First there was Glasgow, wot I've never seen before, and would be quite nice in the summer. :-)

Then two lovely days in Edinburgh, me boring the cheesecake out of poor Hev by showing her all the things that would be happening, if it was festival time, but aren't, because it isn't. Still, it's as lovely as ever, even with the streets crawling with Australians who have suddenly - horror of horrors - discovered soccer! Well, we kept it from them this long...

Couldn't decide what I wanted everyone to get me for my birthday, so I got them all to chip in for something extravagant. Accordngly, Edinburgh airport sold us a cheap 60Gb iPod, so that'll keep me busy for a while. My first Apple!

Why is it cheaper to fly to Scotland than drive or take the train? That's got to stop. And no, I don't mean quadruple all air fares...

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

This is my new motto. I intend to spread its wisdom far and wide. Don't make the same mistake I made, kids.

If you do, this will happen; you will drop a large, stainless steel carving knife onto your foot. By the same laws that make the Buttered Cat Array possible, it will impact point-first. Your kitchen floor will rapidly fill with blood. You will then face the indignity of having to summon an ambulance - or, if you're really lucky like me, two ambulances - to your home, to take you away to sew your foot back together, and in all probability drop you off at the Funny Farm afterwards.

I do have the consolation of having actually achieved a rather excellent shot - making a 2cm-deep wound just behind my toes without damaging any major nerves, arteries or bone. I am under no illusions that I could have managed such a feat of knifesmanship on purpose. At least two nurses asked while passing , "Are you the one who dropped a knife on his foot?", so I'm consoled to think that I've provided some amusement.

But now the anaesthetic is wearing off, and I'm hobbling around like some semi-clad plonker with a club foot, and looking forward to the prospect of a tetanus jab tomorrow. So heed my words, ye unwary - if you must wash up, steel-toed boots are the way forward.